Immortality
by Tallulah99
Summary: The King of the Goblins discovers true immortality.


**Immortality**

By: Tallulah

The sun was just beginning to relinquish its hold on the day as Hoggle made his way hurriedly up the castle steps, cursing the luck that had taken him so far from home on this of all days. Dalia's message had been waiting for him when he arrived home, sending him racing for the castle as quickly as his mangled hip would allow.

A timid castle goblin greeted him at the door, looking wide-eyed and anxious. "He's in his sitting room, sir. He's expecting you." Rather than showing the way, the little goblin gave a short bow and darted away.

"Wait!" Hoggle called. "How long has it been?"

The goblin hesitated at the kitchen door, his round eyes glancing nervously toward the tower. "A long time, sir. A very long time," and then he was gone, leaving the door swinging erratically in his wake.

Feeling a sense of dread take up at the base of his neck, Hoggle mounted the stairs quickly, praying silently as he traversed the landings. Within minutes he was outside the sitting room door, hesitating for no logical reason with his hand on the latch. The unmistakable sound of shattering glass coming from the other side decided him, and he pushed open the door.

There was no doubt the vigil had been going on for some time. There was food, but what little of it remained on plates was untouched. Much of the rest of it was scattered across the floor along with a good number of the room's more breakable contents.

Jareth sat sprawled in a heavy backed chair, dressed in what was obviously yesterday's finest. His head was slumped forward on his chest, though he was obviously awake, his mismatched eyes wide and unseeing. Countless bottles of the best Underground wine lay scattered at his feet, most of them empty.

As Hoggle tentatively crossed the room, the King lurched forward to refill the flagon at his elbow with the remains of yet another bottle, dropping the empty vessel to the floor where it shattered. In a single motion he drained the cup and hurled it drunkenly at his own portrait; the dregs of wine leaving spatters of red like blood across the proud visage. "She's been in there for nearly a day, Hogwash." He said, slumping forward to bury his haggard face in his hands. "She is going to die, and it is no fault but my own."

"I'm sure she's going to be fine, your majesty." Hoggle offered, awkwardly patting his king's shoulder. "Dalia is a fine healer and she'll take good care…" He trailed off at the piercing scream that seemed to echo through the chamber for an eternity. It was a gut-wrenching cry of fear and pain tinged with unspeakable exhaustion. Hoggle's stomach clenched at the unbidden image of Sarah's lovely face contorted in agony, dark hair plastered to pale cheeks as she suffered.

He hadn't realized he was gripping Jareth's shoulder so tightly until the King's own hand came up to clasp his own. For a brief moment they were the same man, joined in their fear and impotency, their inability to help the woman that meant more to either of them than any other in any of the worlds. Brought to parity by their shared pain, they stood silently united – the most powerful creature in all the Underground and arguably the least – neither able to offer up any aid but what prayer would do.

"She should have gone home." Jareth said finally, his voice ragged and slurred. "When all of this started, she should have gone _home_." The last word was a roar as he surged to his feet, sending the table and its contents crashing to the floor. He paced fiercely, tracing the path from window to fireplace and back, frenzied in the desperate need to release pent up energy, to accede to the primeval place that lives deep in every man, that demands _action_ when there is danger.

Abruptly he stopped. Leaning heavily against the window casing, he looked out across his kingdom from the topmost tower, the dying sun lighting the planes of his handsome face, revealing in stark relief the new sorrow written there.

"I've killed her, Hoggle," he said softly. Reaching an unsteady hand out, he plucked a crystal from the air. He passed the glowing sphere from hand to hand for a moment before cupping it gently to his cheek and closing his eyes with an almost blissful expression.

"This is what I found," he said, "what she was when she first came here." He opened his hands to reveal the single red rosebud they now contained. "A child in my labyrinth. So perfect, so exquisitely made as to be unnatural." He cradled the delicate bloom in the cup of his hands, gazing at it fondly. "She was so young and lovely and so so alive…but so temporary, Hoggle!" Jareth looked up, his eyes blazing with wine and emotion. "I, I who have lived a hundred lifetimes and thought nothing of the passing of years, was suddenly afraid of them; terrified as I watched her return to her own world and grow so quickly from child to woman, afraid that she would never return to me, that she would rather wilt and die in the mortal world than be with me in mine." He looked back down at the bud which had bloomed as he spoke and now wilted visibly in his hands, petals loosening and beginning to fall between the webs of his fingers. He closed his hand around the dying blossom gently, protectively.

"But she did come. She came to the Labyrinth of her own free will and I triumphed. I was smug in the knowledge that she chose this life, chose to be with me even in this prison of a world." Jareth's lip curled in disgust as he cast a derisive glance through the window at the twilight shrouded land. "She chose my world and with it the blessed curse of immortality." He brought his closed hands to his face, inhaling the heady scent of the hidden flower. "Now I never need fear watching her wither away with the years. She is, and will always be timeless and unchanging."

In a sudden motion, Jareth brought his hands up and threw the rose to Hoggle who reached out and caught it reflexively. Expecting the soft, organic feel of flower petals, he nearly dropped the hard and heavy object that landed in his hands – a perfect red crystal rose, detail etched in sharp relief; every petal and leaf captured in frozen perfection forever.

As Hoggle stared down at the lovely trinket in the calloused cradle of his hands, Jareth approached. Reaching out with a gloved fingertip, he traced the edge of the petals as he spoke. "I thought to take a thing of beauty and joy and make it mine forever, but even I cannot cheat death."

"But, she can't…"

Jareth shook his head. "She can. She will never age, no. In the natural course of things, she could live here in the Underground with me forever." He glanced across the room at the closed door, shuddering before dropping his gaze again. "She will never age, but that does not mean that she cannot die." He lifted the delicate crystal rose from Hoggle's hands and with an unfathomable look, crushed it to powder between his own.

Hoggle watched in horrified fascination as the remnants of the rose drifted to the floor, reflecting the lamplight in a million tiny prisms.

Jareth examined his gloved hands as if puzzled by them. "Just as if I had crushed the life out of her body with my own hands, I have killed her."

"Sire," Hoggle ventured hesitantly, "it ain't your fault".

'No, Hogwig?" Jareth snapped. "If not mine then whose?"

The dwarf planted his fists on his hips and jutted his chin out belligerently, "Well…well, you just go ahead and feel sorry for yourself if you want, but she ain't dead yet, so you…"

Both men's heads snapped up as another hoarse cry emanated from the other room. Jareth closed his eyes and grimaced in pain until the sound ceased, then turned and strode across the room to the sideboard where he filled a goblet to brimming. Throwing his head back, he drained the cup in seconds and then collapsed into a chair by the door.

He reached out and tentatively touched the wooden door with the flat of his hand. "No. As you so succinctly put it, she isn't dead yet, but she soon will be. It has been far too long. If there were any hope left…" His voice trailed off as he let his hand slide away from the door and lapsed into silence.

Long moments passed and no further sounds came from the inner chamber, the absence of those soul-piercing cries both a blessing and a curse. By tacit agreement, neither man renewed their conversation. Instead they simply waited together, each haunted by their solitary thoughts.

Eventually, when the inactivity could no longer be borne, Jareth took to pacing once more, his soft boots soundless against the stone floors.

Minutes passed interminably, each one following the previous in a reluctant march that seemed impossibly to slow as it carried on. The silence became deafening, broken only by the muted ticking of the mantle clock, counting out the endless seconds.

Jareth grew increasingly agitated with each passing moment, sweeping the room with broad steps, covering miles in the confined space.

Finally reaching his breaking point, Jareth turned to the mantle and seized the clock. With a harsh cry he hurled it forcefully to the stone floor, the sound of splintering wood and breaking glass an odd relief from the overwhelming silence.

"Sire?"

The two men froze as they stood, then turned as one.

Dalia stood solemnly at the open door, frazzled gray hair pulled away from a careworn but gentle face. Hoggle tried unsuccessfully to ignore the traces of drying blood adorning the sleeves of her gown as she dropped into an arthritic curtsey.

Seizing Hoggle's shoulder with bruising force, Jareth forgot to breathe as he waited for the diminutive old woman to speak.

"It was difficult, Your Highness, and I'll not say she'll be up and about any time soon. She'll need her rest for some time."

Jareth's face bore a look which hovered somewhere between despair and hope, needing only a slight push to fall on either side.

Dalia smiled, realizing his fear. "Go to her sire, she wants you."

She touched his arm as he passed, giving him pause even in his haste. "She's going to be fine, your Highness. That I promise."

He covered her hand with his own and bowed his head briefly in thanksgiving, then was gone.

Across the room, Hoggle's legs gave out as the constant tension of the day finally caught up with him. He slumped to the floor amidst the chaos of the room, a foolish smile gracing his craggy face. "Sarah's going to be okay then."

"Yes, of course she is," Dalia snipped as she surveyed the destruction. "Foolish men. Just as well it's women's work, all things considered." She shook her head and began setting the room to rights, clucking and muttering under her breath as she tidied.

Setting the table upright, she fished the empty and half-empty bottles from the floor and stacked them on the side board. She 'tsked' at the mess, but smiled wryly. "Well I suppose even the King of the Goblins can be an anxious new father." She shook Hoggle's shoulder, "Come on then man. Help an old woman. Let's give the King a chance to meet his son."

"A boy then?" Hoggle asked as he came finally to his feet, taking the broom and pan that were thrust unceremoniously into his hands.

"Oh yes, a bonny little boy with eyes as blue as his daddy's. He'll be the spitting image when he's older, you mark my words." Working over the room with a cloth, she stopped to scrub the dried wine droplets from the King's portrait. Stepping back to check her handiwork she smiled across the room at Hoggle. "I imagine he's going to be a bit of a handful too…especially if he's anything like his daddy."

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In the other room, Jareth held his newborn son, marveling at the tiny perfection of the scrunched up face as the newest citizen of the Underground slept contentedly in his father's arms. "He's so small."

Sarah gave a short laugh from her bed. "Says you. I say he's massive." She smiled fondly at the sight of her husband cradling his heir with self-conscious tenderness. "Don't worry, he'll grow."

Setting the boy gently in his cradle, Jareth knelt by his wife's bedside, stroking the hair back from her temples with a faint smile. "He is beautiful, and so are you. Thank you, Sarah. Thank you for my son."

"You're quite welcome, Your Highness," she replied with a smile, cupping his face with a hand. "Do me a favor though? Next time can you _please_ resist the urge to get completely sloshed while I'm in labor?"

He managed to look affronted. "Sloshed? I am not 'sloshed'. And what do you mean next time? Surely, you would not wish to go through this _again_?

"Oh you are too sloshed, you big liar. Just because I've just given birth doesn't mean there's anything wrong with my vision _or_ my sense of smell. You reek. And yes, I do mean next time. I don't want to do this again any time _soon_ mind you, but I also don't want Jaden to be an only child."

Jareth gave her a perplexed look as though trying to decide what to say next and finally settled for kissing her brow and rising to his feet. "I've brought you a gift," he said, producing a crystal with a flourish.

"I've heard that one before," Sarah replied with a playful smile. "Not another snake is it? I'm having a hard enough time with the ones in the garden."

Jareth gave her a quelling look and she obligingly tried and completely failed to smother her grin. Seeing that she wasn't going to let him stand on ceremony, Jareth rolled his eyes and gave in to the informality of the moment. Sitting gingerly next to her on the bed, he held out his hand. "Here".

The crystal rose was as perfect as its predecessor. Each leaf and petal fashioned in delicate likeness of its sweet smelling counterpart.

Sarah's eyes softened as she accepted the glittering flower. "It's lovely. Thank you." She reached out and touched his hand. "You were worried about me, weren't you?"

"Yes," he replied simply. He looked down at the peacefully slumbering infant and went on, "I have wanted a son, a child of my own, but to think I might have lost you because of my own selfish desire…."

"We humans are a much hardier bunch than you give us credit for," she chided gently. She brushed the faceted petals of the figure with the pad of her thumb. "I'm not so very fragile as this, you know. It's true I can die, but I can also _live_, Jareth, and living means taking chances when they're worth taking." Her gaze strayed to the tiny bundle by her bedside. "And I've never seen a chance more worth taking, have you? Besides," she went on as she settled back into her pillows, "if you think there is any way you could have talked me out of having a baby, then it's obvious that you don't know me as well as you think you do. And this won't be the last one either, I assure you."

Jareth raised an eyebrow and gave her a bemused expression. "And just how many children do you plan on having, my dear? There are only sixteen serviceable bedrooms in the castle at present. If I am going to have to build on an addition, it might be best if I know about it now."

Sarah yawned through her smile, hazel eyes already at half-mast. "I'll keep you posted. If it looks like we're going to run out of room, we can always convert the stables. Now go, take your son and introduce him to the world. Everyone will be wanting to meet their new prince."

Smiling fondly at his wife, Jareth leaned over and kissed her brow and was rewarded with a brief smile as she lapsed into an exhausted sleep.

He carefully lifted the infant from his cradle, pausing for a moment to examine the amazing perfection of the tiny features. He realized suddenly as he traced the delicate curve of the soft cheek beneath his fingers that _this_ was true immortality. That this tiny being would grow up and have children of his own, and should he or Sarah one day become dust – some part of them _would_ carry on, a legacy of flesh and blood, borne throughout time as _life_ – immortality by proxy.

Tucking the blanket more snugly around the warm weight in his arms, The King of the Goblins turned and carried the new prince, his finest legacy, from the room.

A/N: This is one of two submissions I did for the drunk!Jareth challenge over at the Labyfic community on LiveJournal. I apologize for all of the ahem melodrama. I was actually pregnant when I wrote this so all blame falls squarely on my hormones.


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